For the really important decisions in life I've found that no list of "pros and cons" will help. Logic doesn't really apply, nor does rationality. There's simply a knowing, a gut feeling that what we've chosen is the right thing to do, and it requires a leap of faith. It is a nervous but determined step into the unknown. Such was the case when we decided to bike around the world, and such was the case today.

One might think that making such a bold move would feel empowering, and it does, very briefly. It is satisfying and reassuring, comforting to feel that we've chosen the right path, and that we won't ever have to feel the burden of regret. But that feeling is fleeting, soon giving way to a leaden stomach and a trembling voice that says, "Oh. Sh*t. Now how are we going to do this?"

There is a Quaker saying, "Way Opens," which I often tell myself when its time to take the plunge into a new, perhaps daunting path. It is the right decision; there is no question about that. It's the kind of choice that is easy in its simplicity because it basically makes itself. Is there really any other option? No, there isn't, not unless we want it to haunt us for the rest of our lives. And so, we take the plunge, trusting in the universe and in our abilities. We have no idea how to make this happen, but it will, and we will cobble out a path as we go along. A way will open.

We awaken often, sleeping fitfully throughout the night, making sure we're not squishing the dozing fur balls who are nestled between us under the sleeping bag. Even with our hats on, under our down covers, it is very cold tonight. I am thankful these little guys are staying warm with us, and I can't stomach the thought of them shivering all night long outside by themselves. I'm not sure they would make it.

The spot we've chosen to camp on isn't the flattest in the world. We were a bit distracted, I guess, when choosing the location of our tent. We toss and turn, awakened often by a wee doggie who has decided that night time is the right time for exploring.

Annoyance at our lack of sleep is obliterated by one look at the tiny puppies who can't help but be unbearably cute. They sigh, they roll over, they put one tiny paw over their face. They spoon with one another, flopping together in a blob of fluff. Tyler and I both awaken at the same time, look at each other, and smile. We are smitten. Now what in the world are we going to do with you two?

Light has barely begun filtering through our tent, and the puppies are very awake and very hungry. It is difficult keeping our heavy eyelids open. Puppies climb over our bodies, rousing us to life each time their paws press softly against our backs as they curiously explore our tent. We can't help but laugh as they slip and tumble, tripping over the puffy fabric, landing in a floppy pile of fuzzy limbs.

Our smiles disappear and we feel heartwrenchingly sad as the puppies try sucking on our fingers, unable to understand why milk isn't pouring forth to feed them. What happened to your mommy? we think, though we know she could very well be dead by the side of the road. She could be starving, or she could be a loud, angry bike-chasing dog. We will never know exactly how these puppies came to be here, but we know one thing for sure: they our our responsibilities now, and we will take care of them.

After trying several times to get them to fall back asleep, we groggily rouse ourselves much earlier than normal to answer the call of small creatures who are dependent upon us for survival. Tyler checks email to see if we have a response from Rory at Romanian Animal Rescue, and I am on puppy duty, trying to prevent the guys from tromping across the keyboard or otherwise romping around wreaking havoc.

Rory has sent us several email addresses of organizations in Romania, and the phone number for Aura from the Daisy Hope Foundation. We try it, but there is no answer.

As Tyler breaks camp, I cook us all some pasta, and keep an eye on the puppies who are wrestling in the dewy grass. Tyler and I stare, unable to take our eyes from the cuteness. We shake our heads with a smile and a laugh, because how can you not laugh at these two creatures who just pranced into our lives and flipped it upside down?

Every time one of them gets too close to our hot stove, I scoop him up for a snuggle, telling him, "that is hot, you have to be careful or you will burn yourself!" When the spaghetti is cooked, I take some out for me and Tyler, then leave the rest to cook some more so it'll be very soft for the puppies. I'm pretty sure dogs only eat spaghetti in the movies, but we deem it the safest thing we have for them, so it will have to do.

When we've all eaten our fill, Tyler test-packs the puppies in a backpack, and we instantly realize we will be needing both his and mine to accommodate the two of them. Tyler re-arranges our electronics to free up his pack, and then we all relax for one final laze in the grass, a calm snuggle before the grand adventure begins. We still have no idea what we're going to do with them, but they are coming with us.

And so we scoop up these two precious creatures, put one in each backpack, and wear them close to our chests like babies. Tyler takes the white fluffy one that looks like a lamb, and I take the skinnier black one. We haven't named them because we know it'll make the inevitable parting even harder. With enough of the zipper open for their little heads to peek out, we wheel our bikes to the very busy road, and begin slowly climbing Romanian hills in search of a good home.

We pass house after house, keeping our eyes peeled for a suitable place for our puppies. Many have fiercely barking dogs chained up with only a two-foot radius in which to live their lives. We pass dog after dog, lying listlessly by the side of the road, or furtively scrounging for food among piles of litter. Unwilling to leave them to such a fate, we pedal onwards. That won't be you, little buddy, I say to the puppy I carry on my chest.

When we pass a home that has friendly-looking dogs roaming free in their large, fenced-in yard, we feel a brief sense of relief. Confident whoever lives here will take care of our charges, we ring the doorbell. A women comes to the gate, looking mightily confused at the sight of two cycle tourists and their puppy-filled packs. When we try to explain the situation, she smiles but shakes her head and motions us onward. She already has three dogs, and five is just too many for her. Of course she is right.

Tyler is crestfallen as we walk away, saying, "we may as well be trying to sell sand in a desert!"

When we pass a shop, we decide it's time to stop. We let the puppies out of the backpacks, and Tyler watches them tumble and play while I go inside to buy food. I pick up snacks for us, and some bean puree for the puppies since there is no puppy food available. I'm not sure the dogs are supposed to be eating solid food this early in their lives, considering they try suckling on everything, but we don't know what else to do.

While I'm buying groceries, I try to explain to the shopkeeper about our puppy situation. After I'm done paying, she walks out of the store with me, locks it up, and walks across the street. When she returns five minutes later, she tells us that no one in this area will take them. There are already ten dogs in the village!

It is quickly becoming clear that asking people is futile. We even stop at an old folk's home that looks perfect, but they say no and shoo us away. Perhaps the only option is carrying them with us to Bucharest, where there is a shelter for abandoned dogs? That feels impossible at the moment. For us, it is three days ride, but with two puppies in tow, we are slower than ever. We've covered less than ten kilometers in two hours, stopping often to show them off at potential homes, let them run around in the grass, and drink some water from our bottles.

Riding is difficult to say the least. There is no shoulder and the traffic-free lanes we've been enjoying in Romania are rapidly disappearing as we approach Bucharest. Speeding cars and semi trucks blast by, while drivers pass recklessly around blind curves. Making matters worse, our route involves lots and lots of climbing.

Under normal circumstances, I would be shaken by all the speeding traffic, working hard to remain steady and balanced as I pedaled my bike in my lowest gear. With a little puppy strapped to my chest, I am even more anxious, and the seriousness of the situation weighs heavily on my mind.

After some unpleasant cycling on the busy, dangerous road, we try to find other alternatives. We stop by the guardrail, shouting to each other over the noise of the traffic, hoping to see if our GPS shows any secondary routes heading in our direction. There are none.

It is nerve-wracking, trying to keep the puppies safe in our packs. Climbing is hard, and coasting proves to be equally difficult. As we speed down hills at breakneck speed, holding our bikes steady, one hand on the brakes and one hand trying to prevent a terrified, squealing puppy from escaping, semi trucks blow by on our left, just inches away. To our right, the pavement ends with a sharp drop into a ditch. It is tough going.

After some time, our puppies calm down, taking to the adventure surprisingly well. They alternate between sleeping, curled up in the bottom of our bags, and watching, wide eyed with their little heads poking out to see the world go by. During one of our rest breaks, my guy barfs up a little spaghetti; I guess he gets car sick, and it's no wonder with all the bumps and loud noises and smog. What on earth are we doing? I think, as we wipe puppy puke off my pannier and climb yet another hill.

When we see a roadside fruit-stand and a bunch of places grilling meat, we decide it is time to stop for lunch. Tyler stays with the bikes while I buy some bananas, oranges, and freshly grilled hot dogs, and then we wheel them to the side of the road, as far as possible from the vehicles that are still barreling dangerously through the narrow lanes.

As we try to lean our bikes together, while making sure our plate of food doesn't fall to the ground, and most importantly that no puppy runs into the road, reality sets in. We are overwhelmed with our new responsibilities. Managing this endeavor is taking a serious toll on our composure, and we still have no idea what we're going to do with the puppies. We briefly consider dropping them off in a pasture with other animals, but quickly veto it. A few hard days for us is a small price to pay for a lifetime of happiness for them.

As we are eating (no, don't stick your face into that *splat*mustard!) one of the many dogs hanging around comes over to sniff at our food. The puppies run to him immediately, and begin trying to suckle, desperate for their mother's milk. The male dog flees, disgusted, and our little puppies are left milkless. Hearts wrenching from witnessing this sad scene, we set our resolve once more. We will take care of them. Come hell or high water, we will keep them safe and find them a home.

As I keep the puppies from trotting headlong in front of speeding cars, I tell Tyler it's time to call those people in Bucharest again. Maybe they could meet us part way or at least help somehow?

Tyler unpacks his bike so he can retrieve the laptop and the phone number along with it. As semis pass, Tyler shouts into the phone, excited to reach Aura in Bucharest. She is a sweetheart, and immediately takes it upon herself to find someone nearby who will take the puppies. Tyler shouts out each letter of the town we're in, hoping our phone won't die, hoping the connection will last, hoping she'll be able to hear over the roar of traffic, hoping she'll be able to find us on the map. Feeling hopeful for the first time all day, we set off again.

Now firmly resolved in our plan, we take to the busy road once more, our minds fixed. I find myself feeling fiercely protective of our little puppies, and the crazy driving no longer flusters me, but angers me since I have such precious cargo in tow. Tyler is amazed that I am taking it all so cooly, shouting to me, "you've got nerves of steel honey, you're doing great!" But I am no longer worried about myself. I have a little puppy to take care of.

Together (all four of us!) we climb and descend, climb and descend, cheering each other on. "We got this." I shout. Tyler calls out the terrain ahead ("only two more switchbacks and then we're in the clear!") and together we make our way towards Bucharest.

At great length, we make it out of the hills, and now we're really cruising. Tyler receives a text message from Aura: she has found someone, and we can meet them in Piteşti, a town just thirty more kilometers away! Ecstatic that our plan might actually work, we count down the roadmarkers and relish the flat, slightly downhill terrain. Twenty five kilometers. Twenty kilometers. Fifteen. Ten. We're in the clear, and it really is downhill all the way to Piteşti!

"We made it! We really made it!" we shout to one another as we roll past the entrance to the city. Overjoyed, we bike through town, petting our precious cargo and telling them, "This is it! You're going to have a home!" We arrive triumphantly at the meeting spot Tyler has confirmed with Aura. While we wait for an English-speaking German doctor driving a blue car with a German license plate, we let the puppies out to play in a little fenced-in green area in a public square.

Passersby smile, children come to pet them, and a kind French woman, Florence, and her boy, Lucas, chat with us as we wait. We look around expectantly at a sea of faces, pointing one out, and asking each other, "do you think that's him?"

And then, out of the crowd, the good doctor arrives. He is a part of the AULIM, a German organization dedicated to helping strays in Romania. He will neuter the puppies, de-worm them, and vaccinate them against all kinds of nasty diseases. Our little pups will then be adopted by a family in Germany! It's really happening; the little guys will be safe!

The thought of them romping around with some German family brings tears to our eyes.

As does saying goodbye.

Tyler and the doctor take the puppies to his van, where they are put in a nice large crate for the drive to the shelter. We leave them with a thank you post-card for the adoptive family and receive a promise that they'll do their best to connect us with them.

The little black and white puppies are out of our hands, and gone from our lives, but we will miss them so much!

22 comments

This might be the best entry I've ever read on this blog, and that says a lot.

Posted by Anonymous on April 29th, 2010 at 10:06 AM

Wow!!!! So happy! So sad! You guys are amazing!! How cool it would be if their new family get in touch with you!

Posted by Greg on April 29th, 2010 at 12:40 PM

thank you for saving the puppies!! <3

Posted by c on April 29th, 2010 at 2:22 PM

good work helping those pups

Posted by Hope Sanctuary on April 29th, 2010 at 2:23 PM

We are just back from our trip to Maroc and now up to date with your journal enries. Your stories are so emotional and well written, that I got stuck the whole night in front of the screen! You guys are amazing! Good job!

Posted by yvesthebiker on April 29th, 2010 at 3:36 PM

Reminds me so much of when we got little Midas. He was sooo cute, but such a handful. We got a preview of what it will be like when we have a newborn. That has to be even more stressful when you live on the road!

~Julia & DAN

Posted by Julia on April 29th, 2010 at 10:15 PM

You did it again: Made me tearful, tense, happy ... all in one post. My family had border collies when I was a kid, and I think I became almost as attached to your puppies as you did. What you did for them speaks volumes about the kind of people you are. Thank you.

Posted by kwalker on April 30th, 2010 at 1:53 AM

Stop making me cry!

So glad the puppies have a home. Thanks for taking care of them. You've made huge deposits in your karmic bank accounts.

Posted by Katrina on April 30th, 2010 at 4:10 PM

An amazing story and photographs! Best blog entry I've read in a long time. Thanks for sharing the story and saving the pups!

Posted by RedRocksRR on April 30th, 2010 at 4:45 PM

You are the Humans and I thank you soo much for your kindness and BIG hearts!!

Nanafrom Russia

Posted by Anonymous on April 30th, 2010 at 5:12 PM

Hi Tara and Tyler! My name is Liza, and my fiance Sean and I love bike touring, and we've been secretly reading your blog for months. I just wanted to say I really enjoy hearing your stories and looking at the beautiful pictures (we're photographers too...) - we hope to do a similar trip someday! but even now, your blog inspired me to start my own and record the details of our recent trip to Europe. (http://www.lizardliness.wordpress.com) So thanks!

Also, these puppies are adorable - I was feeling down and Sean sent me a link to one of your pictures - cheered me up right away :0)

Happy travels!

(PS - I'm from St. Petersburg, Russia, originally, though I live in California, so if you're going through there, or need any help with Russian, just let me know!)

-end longest comment ever-

-Liza

Posted by liza on April 30th, 2010 at 5:57 PM

This is the third time I've read this entry and I've cried harder every time. Thank you for the sacrifice you made, for your courage, determination, and brains and for your beautiful writing and heart-wrenching photos, and most of all for saving those puppies. Best wishes as you continue on your way and Godspeed.

Posted by Julie on April 30th, 2010 at 6:34 PM

You write so well Tara. I feel like I lived that with you a little bit. You're gonna have nerves of steel after this trip - riding with puppies in those conditions!

I'm so happy it turned out so well. They just needed a couple of guardian angels.

I agree with all the other comments, great story with a wonderful ending thanks to your warm hearts.

Posted by LIZKELLEY on May 2nd, 2010 at 10:38 AM

Aww, thanks for all the comments, guys! It was such an intense, emotional day and by the end we felt we'd been through the wringer. But it was so worth it. We still miss those little guys a lot! Such sweethearts...

I really, REALLY hope the new family gets in contact with us!

Liza - Thanks for the Russian offer-- we may take you up on that in a month or so. :-) Checked out your website-- Paris looks fantastic. Eat some delicious food for us!

Posted by Tara on May 2nd, 2010 at 11:27 AM

holy cow! You two are amazing in so many ways. I'm in awe of you. I'm go glad your dad sent me this post and the Living Section of last Sunday's News-Gazette: http://www.news-gazette.com/news/travel/2010-04-25/year-c-u-native-her-partner-still-love-life-road.html

Best wishes for a safe journey onward!

Chef Rachel, The Healthy Cooking Coach

Posted by Chef Rachel on May 2nd, 2010 at 9:41 PM

amazing.

Posted by akropp on May 6th, 2010 at 9:03 AM

Beautiful! What a wonderful post.

Posted by Jeremy on January 5th, 2011 at 8:44 AM

Hi Tyler en Tara,

I'm Rudy from Belgium and I started a few days ago reading your blog. I already "hate" you because every night I can't stop reading your posts about this magnificent trip. Not only do I like the way you're traveling (not just making km's) but I especially like the way you're writing about it. It's weird but after every post it seems I'd know you more and more. This post brought tears in my eyes as I'm a big animal lover (I can cope better with them than with people...). Now, I don't know where you're at the moment (I'm still following you in Romania) but it's almost like my personal quest reading all about it. If you're in Belgium, please don't hesitate one moment to contact me! Thanks again and now I'll continue my reading :-)

Posted by Rudy Engels on May 15th, 2012 at 9:39 AM

Chef Rachel - Aw, thank you!

akropp - :-)

Jeremy - Thank you!

Rudy - Thank you for your sweet and thoughtful comment. We had to chuckle when we read this, I can cope better with them than with people..., because we feel the same way sometimes. ;-)

Thanks for your offer to be a Belgian contact! Maybe we'll take you up on that someday when we're ready for our next big trip. :-) All the best to you!

This is so beautiful! I've been devouring your blog and this is definitely my favorite post so far. Your writing and your photos are truly beautiful, but I've come away with so much more. Your optimism, confidence, and good-heartedness come through loud and clear.